“HELLO, is anyone there?” John Lydon bellows down the line in his characteristically coarse Cockney.

“I can’t hear you very well – I’ve got a band practising on one side of me and a railway line on the other. It looks like I’ve been sent to Coventry.”

It’s not a great start to a telephone interview with one of the world’s most intimidating rock stars.

But Lydon – just back in the UK and halfway through his first day of rehearsals before Public Image Ltd (PiL) head out on tour – is in high spirits and happy to press ahead despite the difficulties.

“It’s going well. We know what we’re doing, we know who’s going to want it and we know who’s going to get it,” he cackles.“I live for the live shows, it’s where I belong. Time off is like purgatory. When you’re touring the stress is overwhelming – it’s nearly enough to make you suicidal.

“It’s not easy, but then again neither is working nine to five or not being able to work. At least I get the chance to indulge my artistic tendencies.”

As he delivers the last line he flicks momentarily into a mock aristocratic accent. This is deployed throughout the interview to punctuate his meandering monologues, adding emphasis as he sees fits.

It’s now 35 years since Lydon turned the industry on its head with the Sex Pistol’s debut single Anarchy In The UK. But in his eyes there is no question the music moguls had the last laugh.

A catalogue of contract disputes left Lydon’s “alleged career” stuck in stasis, unable to tour or put out new material. Only now is he finally free to forge his own path once more.

“The question isn’t ‘why am I touring now?’” he insists when asked about the number of bands currently reforming to embark on lucrative nostalgia tours. “It’s ‘what’s been keeping me away?’ But it’s great to be back. The current PiL line up is the friendliest environment we’ve had. We appreciate and respect each other and that shows in our performances.”

It couldn’t sound further from the self-destructive days of the Sex Pistols (Lydon’s bandmate Sid Vicious reputedly celebrated signing to A&M records by kicking a porcelain toilet to pieces then traipsing blood around the label’s headquarters).

In Lydon’s absence the music industry has changed dramatically.The late 1970s saw punk bands take increasing control over their art.

Now the corporate fat cats have their claws dug deeper into the process than ever before.This is epitomised by the hit American television show Glee, a mass marketing machine that force-feeds the public a steady stream of uninspired cover versions which are later released on CD.

At the time of our interview the show’s latest compilation, Glee: The Warblers, is riding high at number seven in the UK album charts.

“Don’t even talk about Glee, you can’t mention that **** to me,” he says, sounding genuinely offended the subject has come up.

Not that this stops him using it as a spring board to launch into his next assault at the music industry, with a neat side-swipe at the press thrown in. “It’s not music – it’s mimicry and gimmickry,” he fumes. “If it’s selling, it’s only because you guys in the media let them get away with it.

“There’s no lack of talent and individuality out there but the industry is run by accountants – that’s no way to make music.

“We got taken to the cleaners. Now I’m older and wiser. I pay for my music myself, than I decide how to ship it. I hope some young fans learn from that.”

He urges me to put that last bit word for word. But it’s not just the music industry on Lydon’s hit list.

The singer – who now lives with wife Nora in Los Angeles – claims he fled Britain to escape police harassment after daring to stick his neck out and criticise the establishment.

“Just because I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me,” he moans.

It is abundantly clear that Lydon has no regrets about turning his back on his homeland.

His fury is turned upon the decline of British industry (“It used to be Sheffield Steel, now it’s ******* Sheffield plastic cups made in Taiwan”); Tony Blair (“I said at the time he was no good and I wasn’t wrong”); and the coalition government (“You got yourselves two ***** for the price of one”).

But his righteous indignation burns brightest as he bemoans the fact he can no longer light up in public.

“How could you have been so weak that you let them ban smoking in pubs and club?” he rebukes.

My knee-jerk attempt to defend the ban by pointing out that it has proved popular with many (an occupational hazard of being a health reporter by trade) is given short shrift. “In that case give me smoking pubs,” he grumbles.

“People should be allowed to kill themselves however and wherever they like.”

Moving on from this torrent of tirades Lydon is not slow to peddle his own musical myth.

He casually claims credit for pioneering punk and accuses those who followed in his footsteps of cashing in its ideals for a fast buck.

Furthermore, his claim to have founded two of the greatest bands of all time is delivered with such nonchalance that it leaves no room for contradiction.

“As long as there is a single human being left on this planet every song I’ve ever written will still be relevant,” he enthuses.

“I get up on that stage and I communicate with people. That’s why I’m John Lydon and you’re not.”

He allows a brief but satisfied silence to settle before swiftly wrapping up the interview. “Right, shall we leave it there? I’ve got work to do you know.”

It seems as good a place to finish as any.

Lydon may now be as famous for his short stint on I’m A Celebrity... and that butter advert as he is for his music, but the sweat-splattered stage remains his natural habitat. And after decades in exile the man once known as Johnny Rotten is belatedly back where he belongs.

He may have been sent to Coventry, but he plans to enjoy himself while he’s here.

* Public Image Ltd play the Kasbah in Coventry on Tuesday. Tickets £25 from seetickets.co.uk and HMV in Coventry.